


across the divide

by verity



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Affection, Competition, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Ice Skating, Injury Recovery, Remix, Rivalry, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: "You leave that scar alone," Sara says now as Mila presses her lips to it, even as she shivers from the contact, the sensation of warmth divided by the puckered skin where she feels nothing.Mila lifts her head obediently, but her fingers still bracket the incision, bracing Sara's knee like KT tape. "If you want," she says. "I like it."





	across the divide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [El Staplador (elstaplador)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mind and Body](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353663) by [El Staplador (elstaplador)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/El%20Staplador). 



> thanks to ashe, pickleweasel, and snickfic for cheerleading!

The scar is a long line down the center of her knee, still red; the ones on either side of the kneecap are small enough that she almost misses them at a glance. During the long weeks of physical therapy, she wonders if the ridge of it will be visible through her skating tights. Some people heal beautifully—Sara isn't one of them. She still has two pale divots from her nursery school bout of chicken pox that dot the bridge of her nose.

"You leave that scar alone," Sara says now as Mila presses her lips to it, even as she shivers from the contact, the sensation of warmth divided by the puckered skin where she feels nothing. 

Mila lifts her head obediently, but her fingers still bracket the incision, bracing Sara's knee like KT tape. "If you want," she says. "I like it."

"It's ugly."

"So?" Mila says idly as she rubs the inside of Sara's knee with her thumb, little circles that make Sara shiver. Something about Mila's touch is like a new incision. 

—

Beneath thick skating tights, the scar disappears. Sara herself disappears under layers of foundation, eyeshadow, setting spray; she paints a bow onto her mouth with bright lipstick. There are some people who become themselves on the ice, raw strength and emotion, but Sara isn't one of them. She recedes into each role under the bright lights over the rink and transforms into a swan, an ardent lover. The long months of recovery and training to exhaustion belong to her and her alone.

She begins her short program with one gloved hand extended, the other pressed to her breast, and skates backward into a spin as the gentle notes of Tchaikovsky spill from the speakers. All but one of her jumps are in the back half of her routine, where the brass rises up over the sweet hum of the strings. She opens with a triple flip and her healing knee takes the landing as the ice parts for the outside edge of her blade.

—

Where Sara closes, Mila opens. From the moment that the insistent swell of strings begins, she's all energy, moving effortlessly from precise, deliberate footwork to triple loop, double loop, triple toe as the pace of the music picks up. She touches down on her triple axel, but there are enough rotations; Mila shakes it off as if she'd landed it perfectly. On the ice, her passion and her strength come together, each move executed with iron control. She finishes with a hydroblade spin just as the strings rise one last time, sharp and dissonant, and ends the routine with her arms spread over the ice, balanced on five fingers and the edge of one blade.

They're within a point of each other at the end of the night.

—

When they get into bed, Sara's already naked and Mila only has her bra on, the rosy flush of her nipples visible through the purple lace. They grind up against each other for a moment, too eager, and then Sara pulls Mila up so she can suck on her nipples through the fabric. She puts her fingers into Mila's curls and gets Mila off in about a minute, just rubbing her palm against Mila's clit. "Mmm," Mila says after, the wet lace of her bra dragging over Sara's chest. "Was that my condolence prize?"

"No one's handing out medals yet," Sara says modestly. "You have to keep up."

"Oh, I can do that," Mila says, sliding down and parting Sara's legs further, running her hand over the scar.

—and she's still rubbing the inside of Sara's knee, now, waiting for Sara's lead. Even when Sara thinks she knows every inch of her body—all of it sculpted for her work, her art—somehow Mila finds somewhere new to touch her, places where she's impossibly sensitive and tender. Places she'd never want to be touched if it weren't for the alchemy of desire.

"I changed my mind." Sara presses her knee into Mila's hand. "I want you to kiss it. Do it again." 

"I'm not kissing it better," Mila says. Her tone is light, teasing.

Sara can't help but smile at her. "I know."

The scar is just long enough that Mila has to kiss it twice to cover the length. The absence of sensation isn't as shocking this time, and neither is the pleasure as Mila kisses the side of Sara's knee, then up the inside of her thigh. Mila licks into Sara's cunt and kisses her whole-mouthed for long minutes, fucking her with her tongue and then backing off until Sara's panting, sweating, grinding up against Mila's lips. "Are you ready now?" Mila says, pausing to wipe her mouth. Her lips are so red, her cheeks flushed.

"I'm ready, I'm ready," Sara says, and she comes almost as soon as Mila sucks on her clit, her whole body alight and alive. Thinking about nothing at all.

She's shaky afterward, too fucked and skated out to do more than drink from the bottle of water Mila brings back to the bed. "Good thing the free skate's not for another day," Mila says after she sets the bottle on the nightstand. She leans over and brushes Sara's hair back from her face, tucks it back behind her ears. "I wish I could eat you out all night." 

Sara's half asleep already, but she can't help but smile. "Maybe if you win."

"If _I_ win?" Mila says.

Sara tucks her face against Mila's shoulder. "Mmm." She closes her eyes.

—

In the morning, the scar is still as puckered and red as it was the night before. Sara looks at it critically in the full-length mirror in the bathroom, then again in the sunlight as she sits on the bed. Mila stirs, grumbling, then cranes her head to look at the clock. "I don't want to get up," she says. "Why don't you sit on my face instead. If—"

Sara huffs out a laugh. "My knee can take it."


End file.
